


Laundry Day

by The Elder Gays (Katanachan)



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Big Gay Coming of Age Story, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, High School, Humor, Internalized Homophobia, Kenny is a mood, M/M, Romantic Comedy, growing relationship, sorta friends to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 09:17:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17404208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katanachan/pseuds/The%20Elder%20Gays
Summary: This is Kenny’s alone time. So when his eyes lift at the inconspicuous tinkle of the front door bell, watching one angry and stomping Craig Tucker come tight lipped and unwelcome into his laundromat, he has to put his magazine down to gawk at the sight.





	Laundry Day

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!!! This is our contribution to the South Park ship collaboration project! Trying to limit something to 10k was a challenge for us, but we did it and we're really pleased with how it came out. It's very much a self contained, ship in a bottle type story. We hope you enjoy it!! <3
> 
> And because it's us and we always tend to go a little overboard, we had a bit more planned for this initially, so we're considering posting a separate version of this that's a bit longer (aaaaaaaaaand probably nsfw) once we finish up the extra scenes we had planned. 
> 
> Thank you guys so much for all your support (and patience) with us!  
> Now have some crenny <3

Craig isn't sure exactly _why_ , but he always liked Sundays the best.  While he, on multiple occasions, has listened to Clyde lament the end of the weekend (' _We have school in 24 hours, dude! Might as well just lay in bed all day and cry!'_ ), Craig sees Sunday as a day for _him_.  No parties, maybe the occasional movie or hang out session, but for the most part, the day is his.  He can finally take a breath, play some video games, read a damn _book_ , and do his laundry.  
  
Tweek used to give him shit about the laundry thing; hell _all_ his friends did when they were younger, but something about sorting and washing and folding his clothes is zen for him in a way that his Buddha Box could never quite get.  That, or maybe he's just a control freak. Maybe both. Regardless of the why, the whole process helps him relax, and a small part of him secretly looks forward to it every week.

So when Craig's socked feet pad down the stairs on Sunday morning, laundry basket tucked under his arm as he taps absently at his phone, he doesn't expect to step in something cold and wet at the bottom of the stairs.  Nor does he anticipate his foot sliding across the floor, completely losing his balance, and landing square on his ass in a puddle of water and soap suds. It takes him a minute of staring at the steadily growing mountain of bubbles coming from the laundry room around the corner to snap him back to reality, standing shakily on the slippery floor and kicking past several shirts lost to the soap sud monster form his fall.  Grabbing his phone from the floor (and thank fuck his screen didn't crack), he shuffles awkwardly into the laundry room, a scowl creasing his brow with each fumbling step.

"Trish," Craig hisses out when he sees his sister fidgeting in front of the washing machine, "What. The. Fuck."  
  
Tricia stiffens upon hearing her brother's voice, head turning to peek over her shoulder.  Holding up her hands in a gesture of surrender, she faces him, her expression somewhere between fear and constipation.  "Okay. Craig, look, I-I can explain, okay?"  
  
Bringing himself up to his full height, Craig watches her incredulously. "You fucking better," he says, and he can hear the frustration cutting through his normal monotone, "how the _hell_ did you-?"  
  
"I read the container wrong!" Tricia spits out, reaching behind her to pick up the detergent bottle. "Super honest mistake." She holds the bottle out to Craig, his eye twitching the faintest bit when he grabs it away from her.  "I thought it said five."  
  
"Five..?" Turning the bottle over, Craig looks for the instructions, pointedly ignoring the soap and water soaking into his socks and pants.  He could feel it seeping into his boxers and he let out an exasperated sigh. "It doesn't say five on here anywhere."  
  
"Well, I was reading it upside-down, and-"  
  
"...What?"  
  
Tricia snatches the bottle back from her brother, turning it upside down and barely catching the cap from falling off again and adding more soap to the now knee-high mass of suds around them. "See? Totally looks like a five."

Craig doesn't know if he should be impressed by the sheer amount of bubbles that are starting to wage war on their house, or pissed off that he's soggy and will have to spend the rest of his weekend cleaning up soap.  "Why were you reading it upside down?"  
  
"Not important," Tricia sets the bottle down and almost immediately knocks it into the bubbles when the washing machine makes a loud _CLANG_.  
  
"You didn't _turn it OFF_?!" Pushing past Tricia, Craig slips and slams into the washing machine, frantically jabbing at the off button.

"I tried to-!"  
  
"What, were you trying to _upside-down_?" he grumbles, words dripping with sarcasm as he continues to press the stop button to no avail.  "Why won't this stupid thing turn off?"  
  
Tricia rushes forward next to him, reaching for the button herself and elbowing Craig in the neck in the process. "Shit, _shit_ , Dad's gonna kill us..."  
  
"Us?" Craig's head snaps to look at his sister and resolves that he will decidedly _not_ bodycheck a 14-year-old.  "You mean _you_ , dude.  I didn't have anything to do with this!"  
  
"Well, you're here now, Tucker! You're my accomplice! Dad'll believe me anyway!" A bony hip connects harshly with Craig's ribcage, and he amends his stance on throwing his sister Lion King style into the soap subs below.

"Don't call me Tucker, _Tucker_ ," he presses his palm repeatedly against the stop button, a low panic building in the pit of his stomach at the washing machine's progressively louder and more erratic clanking.  "Maybe the knob..."

"Lemme try!" Tricia's skinny legs kick out from underneath her in her attempt to lunge at the dial, kicking her brother several times as she scoots herself closer and grabs it.  
  
"That's the wrong way." Craig puts his hand over hers and twists in the opposite direction.  
  
"Is not! I was doing _just fine_ before _YOU_ got here!"  
  
"Oh, yeah, because flooding the fucking house is _just fine_."  
  
"Craig, let _go_!"  
  
" _You_ let go!"  
  
Somewhere between the washing machine starting what Craig can only describe as a death-spin-cycle and several more elbow stabs to his person, the dial snaps off, sending the siblings falling back into the soapy disaster below them. He is vaguely aware that he yells, remembers hearing Tricia scream, and thinks _of fucking course_ to himself before he is completely engulfed in suds.

Craig's ass collides with the hard floor for the second time in ten minutes, and part of him wonders if this is some sick sort of irony, that the one teenage boy in the history of the world to actually enjoy laundry is going to drown in a nightmare of laundry detergent.  But Craig thinks of all the jokes his friends would instantly make upon hearing about his demise, so he sits up, wiping the suds away from his face. Tricia pops up next to him a moment later, coughing and looking like a floating head among the bubbles.

Standing as carefully as he can, Craig grasps Tricia's forearm and helps her to her feet, unable to stop a snort from escaping when he sees the soap monster his little sister has become.

"What?" she coughs out again, trying her best to clear the soap from her face.  "What's so funny?"  
  
"You look like a bubble-yeti," Craig deadpans, earning himself a very unconvincing glare from Tricia.  
  
"Yeah, and you look like an idiot!"  
  
"And you _both_ look fucking _grounded_."  
  
They freeze, turning slowly to see their father standing in the doorway, suds up to his knees and his bright hair practically turning into flames on his head.

If he hadn't inhaled so much Fresh Morning Mist scent or maybe had an ounce more of self preservation, Craig would have kept his mouth shut.  But fuck it, he was grounded anyway.

"At least we're clean." Shrugging a shoulder, Craig watches his father flip through an array of emotions before settling on _You Ruined My House But You're My Kids So I Guess I Can't Throw You In A Dumpster_.  
  
"Just get the hell outside so I can hose you off," Thomas snaps, shaking his head and walking a step away before turning back and pointing between his two children.  "Your mother is going to kill you."

"Us?" Craig asks, all false innocence, and he shoots as sly of a grin as he can manage to his sister beneath a mask of bubbles.

"You're an accomplice, Dad," Tricia puts on that Daddy's Little Girl voice that drives Craig crazy but lets her get away with so much bullshit with their father.

Thomas sputters then, frustration evident on his face before he flips the two siblings off, receiving a pair of middle fingers back from his children.  
  
"Just...just fucking get outside."

\-------

Kenny has a long standing arrangement with the third machine in the second row: he would never kick it again, and the machine, in turn, would never eat another one of his favorite pairs of socks. It is a routine for Kenny, spending his Sunday in the broken down little laundromat.  
  
His friends know better than to ask him what his plans are on Sunday, just as Karen and Kevin knew to have their laundry at his bedroom door, loaded and ready to go before noon. Kenny has somewhat of a contract with his parents regarding the family laundry. They would leave him exactly the right amount it would take to wash and dry the entire family’s laundry for the last two weeks, _plus_ enough money for Kenny to grab himself something to eat and a soda as his fee for the labor.  
  
Sitting at his normal haunt, the only non-broken or _sketchy_ stained chair in the joint, he licks his thumb before turning a page in his magazine. Next to him, the blond’s backpack sitting lazily at his feet has not only the appropriate amount of dryer sheets and detergent for the load, but an ample amount of reading material and exactly one golden PSP.  
  
This is Kenny’s _alone time._ So when his eyes lift at the inconspicuous tinkle of the front door bell, watching one angry and stomping Craig Tucker come tight lipped and unwelcome into his laundromat, he has to put his magazine down to gawk at the sight.  
  
“Did you get into a fight with a water hose and lose, Tucker?” Kenny laughs out before picking his reading material back up, ignoring Craig’s glare in his direction.

"How did you...? You know what, nevermind," Craig mutters, seemingly more to himself than Kenny, and all but throws his bag of laundry on the long table at the center of the room.  "Like you look much better," the other boy huffs and begins sorting his clothes like they had personally offended him somehow, even though Craig is the one actively dripping on them, his dark hair soaked and leaving trails of water trickling down his neck.

Now that he really looks, Craig's clothes are a mismatch of dry, wet, and downright sudsy.  Kenny even catches sight of a bit of bubbly soap clinging to the collar of his shirt, so the audacity of one Craig Tucker coming into his space during his personal time and criticizing his laundry day attire is beyond rude.

Kenny finds himself rolling his eyes and attempting to go back to the article he’s reading. He tries and fails a total of five times to start and restart the paragraph, the montage of Craig’s laundry shenanigans happening in the background of his magazine perusal, successfully pulling his attention away from _Henry Rows Telling of the Baxter Twins of Massachusetts_.  
  
With a huff, Kenny puts his magazine back down over his knee. His finger holds his spot as he openly watches Craig manhandle the laundry, stuffing it as if he has a vendetta against it, into machine one.  
  
Kenny hears the click of his own tongue as he grabs the remote that controls the small hanging TV, turning it to channel five before speaking. “You shouldn’t use that one,” his blue eyes flash from the light of the TV, the whirling sound of cars filling the laundromat as NASCAR roars to life on the screen. “Unless you want to be fully soaked; she’s a squirter,” the blond grins and adds a wink to really drive his pun home.

Craig stops the aggressive shove of his clothes into the machine and oh-so slowly twists to face Kenny. His eyes crinkle at the corners, shooting some semblance of a glare at the boy just trying to enjoy his goddamn day. “Excuse me?” Craig’s voice waivers in annoyance, and Kenny would be set for life if he had a dollar for every time those green eyes narrowed at him like this.

“Excuse you? No, no. Excuse _me_. Perhaps I wasn’t clear?” Kenny tilts his head toward Craig as he cups his hands around his mouth and loudly proclaims, “If you want to look like you got caught in a Jackson Pollock painting, by all means, use machine one.”  
  
Kenny doesn’t miss a beat as he lifts his eyebrows, hands moving from his mouth to his ridiculous red and white splattered shirt. “Do you think this is a fashion statement? It’s my laundry shirt for a reason, Tucker. Miss Leya Falcon over there has a leak.”

Even though the crease between Craig’s eyebrows doesn’t let up as he continues to _stare_ at Kenny, he pulls his clothes out of the washing machine and plops them on the table. His eyes keep flicking down to the awful mess that is Kenny’s laundry shirt before he lets out a sigh that is just a little too close to an impression of Stan for him to take Craig seriously.  
  
“Is there one that won’t attack me?” Craig’s voice is even again, resigned and just on the right side of sincere.

Kenny McCormick is no saint. Far from it. But in this moment, he feels a tug of pity for the boy dripping wet and covered in soap. Maybe it is the Lord’s day taking hold of him, making Kenny kinder than normal, or maybe the blond is in denial about his own characteristics. He finds himself moving his outstretched legs off of the chair he has them propped on, adjusting himself as he stands up.  
  
He dusts off his joggers before plopping down his magazine in his chair. “I think I’m gonna have you in machine four over there,” Kenny states as he walks over lazily and stands next to Craig. It is still strange to him, the fact that Tucker is _shorter_ than him right now. Over the summer last year, Kenny had finally hit his growth spurt; to his surprise and everyone else’s, he ended up taller than their resident beanstalk.  
  
Kenny is convinced Craig isn’t done growing. He started catching up in inches just this year alone, and he would bet his left nut that Craig is going to over take him in that title again soon.  
  
Standing there, Kenny holds out his arms for Craig to load them up.

After a pause, Craig scoops up an armful of his clothes, placing them in Kenny’s outstretched arms and gathering the rest himself. He follows Kenny to the washing machine, shoving his clothes in after the other and taking a step back to get his detergent.  
  
“Thanks,” Craig says quietly, seeming almost disgusted by the fresh linen smell of the soap when he unscrews the cap.

“You can thank me by buying me a Dr. Pepper from that machine over there,” Kenny grins crookedly as he snatches up Craig’s detergent and measures out the correct amount. “My parents owe me a soda, they’re supposed to give me enough coins for one, but my cheap ass dad musta under counted,” blue eyes roll as Kenny closes the machine’s lid and sets the wash to start. He leans backwards against the cool metal before shrugging a shoulder. “So you are very welcome, and thank you for buying me a soda pop for saving your clothes.”

Craig digs out his wallet from his back pocket, unzipping the coin pouch and dumping the contents into his hand. “I know how to do laundry, you know,” he places several quarters in the machine, twisting the dial and pressing the start button. He picks up three more quarters from his palm and holds them out to Kenny. “For your back-breaking labor.”

“Why thank you. I don’t slave over a sudsy machine all day to not get my Pepper,” Kenny chuckles under his breath as the slightly warmed coins hit his palm. Twisting with flourish, Kenny crosses the old building until he’s standing in front of an equally old machine. He wonders if one day the poor rust bucket will be replaced with some overpriced technological marvel, but he doubts it. When does anything in South Park ever change or get renewed after the SoDoSoPa debacle?  
  
Kenny does a little happy dance as he sticks the coins into the slot, wiggling from one leg to another as the graveling sound of the NASCAR announcer pulls his attention to the race. He watches for a second before pressing the button for his Dr. Pepper, bending to grab it when it falls down the machine with a loud _thunk_.

When he turns back around, triumphant in his quest for soda, Craig’s eyes are narrowed again, but this time his expression is approaching confusion instead of indignation. “Princess, huh?”

The blond turns as he pops the top of his soda. He looks behind himself at the gold glittery letters that spell out _Princess_ across his ass, and lets out a laugh.  
  
“Cartman’s idea of a gag gift last Christmas,” Kenny walks over to his bag before squatting down and rummaging through the ratty backpack. A soft _ah ha_ leaves him as he pulls out a swirly straw and inserts it into his soda. Kenny deposits his derrière back into his chair before wrapping his lips around the straw and dramatically taking a few pulls. “And I happen to enjoy them.”

“Yeah, Princess pants and that thong look _real_ comfy,” Craig drawls out as he wanders to inspect the other chairs in the laundromat. _You’re not gonna find a clean one_ , Kenny chirps in his head, eyeing Craig as he scrutinizes a particularly nasty chair before moving it aside with his foot. Craig hops up onto the center table in defeat, crossing his long legs and flipping his phone between his hands. Bored. Clearly bored. But hey, it’s not Kenny’s fault Craig didn’t think ahead of bring some quality reading material.

“Have you ever worn a thong, Tucker?” The incredulous look Craig gives him answers Kenny’s question right away, “Then you have no idea how comfortable they are. They just,” he cups his hand and makes a kissing sound to the air, “cradle you _just right_.”

“Information I definitely didn’t need, thanks,” Craig’s eyeroll is almost impressive.  
  
Kenny continues to watch, giving his eyebrows a quick waggle as Craig fidgets with his phone before the boy on the table sets it down with a little huff.  
  
Craig seems out of his depth, that whole _communication_ thing never being his strong suit. Kenny would normally be one to indulge in a little banter and carefully placed jabs, but even if Craig looks a little pathetic perched up on the table in soggy clothes, he would be lying if he says he isn’t the tiniest bit bitter that his ‘me-time’ has been interrupted.  
  
Fortunately (or unfortunately), he doesn’t have to decide whether or not to start an awkward conversation because Craig does it all by himself.  
  
“So...um, you come here a lot?”

The blond pulls his attention away from the circling cars on the screen to glance back at Sir Sogs-A-Lot. He offers the other a smile before slurping more soda from his straw, “Every other Sunday like clock-work. Someone has to keep the McCormick brood in clean clothes.”  
  
Kenny waves his arm broadly, “Welcome to my kingdom. I’ve been coming here since I took on the duty as Princess of the Wash. I get to sit here and read, watch Nascar, and be alone for the entire day. This place has heat, comfortable chairs, and normally...” he trails off before making eye contact with Craig, “I don’t have to be _on_. So it’s nice.”

The faintest bit of pink stains Craig's cheeks, his eyes immediately dropping to his phone.  "Whatever. I get it. Sorry to crash your Fortress of Solitude."

A strange feeling swirls in Kenny’s abdomen and he recognizes it almost immediately as guilt. “It’s the Batcave,” Kenny says quietly before darting his eyes away and sipping his soda.  
  
“What?” Craig asks, confusion all over his face.  
  
“The Batcave. Not the Fortress of Solitude, I’m Batman not Superman,” the smallest of smiles curls over the blond’s lips at the admission. “Super Craig was Superman, Mysterion was _Batman_ , remember?”

A tiny laugh slips past Craig's lips, so small that Kenny isn't sure if he imagines it or not, but the smile is plain as day on the other boy's face so it must have been real.  "I thought Mysterion was the agnostic angel this town needs but doesn't deserve or some shit."

“Don’t make me sound like the Joker,” Kenny pauses to think about Heath Ledger, God rest his soul, before laughing.  
  
He raises his Dr. Pepper in the air in a cheers then drinks a little more. “So, Super Craig, what brings you to my Batcave? I never asked.”

Craig shifts uncomfortably on the table, dropping his phone into his lap.  "You weren't completely wrong when you mentioned getting in a fight with a hose," he says with a sigh, that little bit of frustration flashing through his calm facade.

“Oh?” Kenny’s thin eyebrow raises in a question before he puts his soda down. “Dare I ask? If you say it was Clyde with a super-soaker, I thought we banned those in eighth grade when he started peeing in them?”

“If you remember correctly, that ingenious idea was mine back in fourth grade.” Craig rests his forearms on his crossed legs, absently messing with the pop socket on the back of his phone, “That and the dumpster juice. Clyde’s just the one who took it too far.”  
  
Craig shakes his head, green eyes raising to meet Kenny’s, “Nah, uh...some shit happened, and my sister broke the washing machine. My dad decided the solution was to, quite literally, hose us down before my mom got home.”

“That’s rough, buddy. I know how little sisters can be, precocious little scamps.” There’s a beat when Kenny’s trying to remember the dumpster juice, realization finally dawning. “Oh my God, right? When the new kid moved to town. I remember now; Cartman’s elaborate plan to take all their money.”

“He did it, too,” running a hand through his still wet hair, Craig shakes off the lingering drops of water, “Poor sucker.”

“Whatever happened to that kid?” Kenny wonders out loud as he gets comfortable. Pulling the magazine from the table, he licks his thumb and opens the page he dog-eared. “I feel like they just disappeared one day.”

“They probably did. This is a weird ass town,” Craig’s words linger in the air under the ambient rumble of the washing machines and cars speeding around their track on the TV.

“It wouldn’t be the first time someones disappeared and no one’s noticed,” Kenny doesn’t mean to say that. He’s sure Craig won’t understand the deeper meaning, but to be sure he barks out some laughter, “What with ManBearPig and aliens running rampant in those there hills.”

A strange look flashes over Craig’s face for a moment before it disappears altogether. He cracks another smile, “And those crazy hooligans with their eScooters and piss-filled super soakers.” Craig’s eyes drift to the screen mounted on the wall, face shifting into his usual impassive front. “Growing up here was weird. This place is weird. _This_ is weird.”

“This?” Kenny’s eyes lift from the magazine, “As in two guys hanging out doing their laundry?” Blue eyes glance up to the ceiling as he shakes his head, “Let me amend that, two guys who have known each other since pre-k but don’t really hang out too much, doing their laundry together.”  
  
Kenny huffs softly as he shakes his head a little bit more, turning a page, “Is it ‘cause you like, hate me or something? What with Peru and you never letting it go?”

He notices Craig still in his periphery, notices that green eyes are focused on _him_ instead of the screen. “Peru sucked. But we still hung out. A lot.” Something resonates in Craig’s voice and he can’t quite put his finger on it. It makes Kenny almost uncomfortable because he can read people like an open book, but Craig has never really been _people_.

“Guess that’s the shitty part about growing up. You get wrapped up in your own...shit. Drift apart or whatever,” Craig continues, completely oblivious to any questions rattling around Kenny’s brain. “And, for the record, I’ve never hated you.”

“That’s...good information to log away,” Kenny finds himself smiling on reflex, trying his best to ignore that nagging feeling in the back of his mind. The one that tells him how uncomfortable Craig seems right now. That same sensation that alerts him when others are trying their best, being _honest_.  
  
Mr. Mackey did say Kenny would make a great counselor, what with noticing the little things.  
  
Cutting the other boy some slack, he reaches into his bag and snatches a _Penthouse Forum_. “I know you’re about as gay as they come, but the articles are interesting,” he offers before rolling up the magazine and tossing it to Craig. “To give you something to do.” He pauses as Craig catches the rolled up bundle, “And since were on record, Tucker?”  
  
Kenny catches green eyes with his own, quirking his lips and shifting his magazine, “I never hated you either.”

\-------

Kenny, Craig decides, definitely held out on him.  
  
Not that he really blames him. This is Kenny’s space after all, and Craig is just a tourist in this little laundromat oasis until his parents can pool enough money to replace their busted machine.  
  
But man, washer four had _nothing_ on washer three.  
  
The week between his first visit to the laundromat and Kenny’s regularly scheduled laundry day, Craig scopes out the place alone. He tries out different washers and dryers, discovers that timing the last quarter with the soda selection button on the vending machine drops a second can, and sits in Kenny’s well-loved chair. It’s the perfect distance from the old air conditioner and mounted wall fan, and just far enough away from washer three that it doesn’t completely drown out the TV. It also doesn’t hurt that the chair is actually _clean_.  
  
Part of him feels like he’s invading something sacred by being here without Kenny, even though he knows that’s stupid. Still, it’s like some sort of veil has been lifted, some little glimpse into Kenny’s life, even if it’s just a laundromat.

So when Kenny all but waltzes through the door the next weekend, Craig relinquishes the chair and hops up on the table.

The moment the blond sinks into the chair, Craig knows Kenny can tell he’s been sitting in _his_ chair. It’s almost like that old fairy tale, Goldy Locks; Kenny can feel the difference the moment his cheeks hit the fabric, the look on his face clear as day.  
  
Regardless if he can or not, Kenny doesn’t say a word. Instead, Craig watches from his perch on the table as the blond pulls a few items from his bag.  
  
“I brought you one,” Kenny starts, his voice muffled in the bag. When he sits up, Craig can see the Pop-Tart package. “Do you prefer strawberry or chocolate?”

“Whichever; I’m not picky,” Craig shrugs a shoulder as Kenny hands over the unmarked foil package.  
  
“Good, because I mixed them up on the way over,” Kenny flashes a smile, the little gap in his teeth peeking out between his lips.  
  
Craig watches the other boy settle back in his chair, crossing his legs and ripping open his own foil package. He isn’t exactly one to judge, considering his fashion sense extends about as far as fitted jeans and graphic tees, but Kenny’s track shorts, a rather tight Terrance and Phillip shirt, and tube socks seem a bit bold, even for laundry day. “You kinda look like a 70s basketball player.”

“Huh, I’ve gotten 70’s porn star but not a basketball player before,” Kenny states before taking a bite out of his Pop-Tart.

“You’re missing the porn-stache. That’s what really sells it,” Craig breaks off a piece of his strawberry Pop-Tart, “But you might be more of an expert on that than me.”

Kenny makes a weird face, _weirder_ than normal. He’s quiet as he breaks his pastry apart before popping the small pieces into his mouth. He looks thoughtful, and for a second, Craig thinks he’s said something wrong.  
  
“I suppose,” Kenny starts. He stands up and places his foil on the chair before he heads to his washer. He opens the machine and starts loading it. “I don’t watch as much as one would assume.” Kenny turns to face Craig, his normal cheeky grin finally back, and Craig feels himself relax. “But boy do I watch a lot of anime tiddies.”

Craig nearly chokes on his Pop-Tart, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he coughs and laughs around the pastry. “Jesus Christ, dude,” he manages to get out after his coughing subsides, “Warn a guy before dropping a tiddy-bomb like that.”

Kenny watches as Craig tries to regain the ability to breathe without Pop-Tart in his lungs. “Can one ever really predict anime tiddy, though?” Kenny asks as he presses the coins one at a time into the washer and turns it on.

“Guess not,” Something twists in the pit of Craig’s stomach, a lingering discomfort at that _look_. They are friends, sure. Well, they used to be. Craig doesn’t know exactly what their companionship-while-laundering falls on the spectrum of friendship. But he got a Pop-Tart and quality washing machine advice, so he doesn’t want to fuck this up before it really starts.  
  
“Hey, um,” Craig begins, inwardly kicking himself for sounding like an actual jackass, “sorry if the, uh...if the porn comment bugged you. I didn’t mean anything bad by it.”

Kenny’s stare almost goes _through_ him more than being directed at him. The way his eyes take on this steel feature sends a shiver down Craig’s spine. But as quickly as it came, the look is gone, replaced with a soft smile.  
  
“It’s okay, I get that a lot,” Kenny leans against the metal before his arms flex and he’s lifting himself to sit up top the washing machine.

Objectively, as a person who sees people on a regular basis, Craig can admit to himself that Kenny is attractive. That’s never been something up for debate in their small town. He isn’t sure if this particular outfit of Kenny’s is hindering or helping that case, but Craig’s eyes follow the shift and pull of the blond’s biceps unconsciously before his attention snaps back to the mixture of emotions playing over Kenny’s features.  
  
“Yeah?” Craig kicks his dangling feet back and forth, not sure what to say in this kind of situation. He decides on honesty and opens his mouth before he loses his nerve, “That’s bullshit.”

Kenny appears to be mulling something over before he leans forward on his palms, his fingers resting along the edges of the washing machine. And Craig once again finds himself noticing something he hadn’t before as Kenny flexes his fingers against the metal.  
  
_Kenny has nice hands,_ he hears himself think before he realizes the other boy is talking.  
  
“-llshit. I kinda call it down on myself, walking around being open about sex. But it’s not like I’m the village bicycle,” the blond laughs but Craig notes that there is little humor in the tone, “Tell that to the rumor mills and see if it sticks. Doubtful.”  
  
Craig hums quietly, the air feeling heavy with _something_ around them. “Everyone loves a scandal,” he muses, noting the way Kenny’s eyes slip in and out of focus before they raise to meet Craig’s, “even if people get hurt, as long as it’s not them. People are shitty.”

“What do you expect from a town fulla people who praise a literal Christmas shit?” Kenny says, his words a statement more than a question. Craig opens his mouth to mention Mr. Hankey’s ousting, but thinks twice when Kenny reaches up to run his hand through his thick blond locks.  
  
It does something weird to Craig’s stomach, seeing this other side of Kenny. They’ve known each other since either of them could barely form a sentence, and Craig has seen the Kenny at school, the one who plays superhero and dresses like a princess on the weekends. The Kenny who runs track and can make an entire swarm of girls (and guys) swoon with a carefully placed wink and witty-yet-perverted remark. But _this_ Kenny, lounging in track shorts and an annoyed smile instead of hiding behind a bad reputation and walls he built up around himself is...different. And not in a bad way.  
  
“You’re right,” Craig props his chin up on his knuckles, elbow digging into his knee. “Shitty town. Maybe we’re all just actual, literal shit instead of just _shitty._ ”

Craig watches as the taller boy fiddles with a thread on his shirt before leaning back, his attention seemingly back on the TV hanging in the corner. The conversation seems to be at its end, the blond not interested on delving further into that particular train of thought. Kenny's feet kick back and forth, his heels knocking against the metal causing a slight _clunk_ sound every so often.  
  
It's a strange balance. The sound of cars circling through the tinny speakers of the television set, Kenny's random assortment of _clanks_ and _clinks_ , and the sound of their conversation dying off, leaving behind this strange sensation of comfortable silence.

And this silence, the last vestiges of this conversation, shouldn't be comfortable, but somehow it is.  Even the tension resting in Kenny's shoulders is easing, the dull roar of engines and excited announcers over humming washing machines providing a backdrop for them to just _be_.  
  
It's an easy routine Craig falls into each Sunday, and as much as he doesn't like his laundry-laden trek around the block, he enjoys the solitude of the little laundromat.  And it doesn't hurt when Kenny joins him every other week, either.

After the first couple weeks, Kenny's appearances aren't limited to his regularly scheduled laundry days.  Craig wonders but never questions him, accepting Kenny's vague ' _Well, I gotta make sure you don't wreck my little hide away, Tucker',_ even if he knows that can't be the whole truth.  Being alone is something Craig has always valued, but maybe Batman had the right idea when he brought others into the Batcave.

\-------

"I don't care what my sister or Clyde says, Tik Tok is _not_ the next vine," Craig huffs out from his place laying on top of the center table, phone outstretched above him.  "Like it's sorta funny, but this isn't the six seconds of magic we were robbed of." Turning to face Kenny, he holds out his phone for the other boy to take.

Kenny, who happens to have other things on his mind today, turns to the sound of Craig's voice. He hasn't really been listening, distracted by his own thoughts. He's been meaning to bring the topic of conversation up with Craig for a while, and with the words he had exchanged with his father that morning still lingering in his mind, he feels his courage finally take hold.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, vines and clocks. Very interesting," waving his hand, Kenny looks to the door of the laundromat before his eyes glance back to Craig.  
  
"Can I ask you something?" Kenny pauses briefly before continuing, not actually allowing Craig time to respond. "I mean, it's gonna be a weird thing to ask, but I just, it's something I can't ask many people."

Raising an eyebrow that disappears under his fringe, Craig pulls his phone back, setting it on the table as he sits up.  "Yeah, man. That's kind of cryptic as hell, but sure."

"Cryptic yes, but look, we're friends, right?" Kenny gestures animatedly with his hands as he speaks. "We've been shooting the shit and doing laundry together for a while. I'd like to think we've grown closer, formed a sort of camaraderie."

Craig stares at him for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly in confusion as he mutters, "Uh huh."  
  
"I mean, what better way to bond and shit than to have your intimates swirling around next to each other, right?" Kenny's voice decidedly does _not_ go up in pitch, his words already spilling from his mouth much faster than anything approaching normal.

"Sure, dude," Craig's mouth twists into a hesitant smile, "But you're kinda making me feel like you're going to steal my kidneys or something."

"Naw, kidneys aren't the organ that sells the best; believe it or not, it's the heart. For the right buyer, you can score a cool mil. But that's off the topic," the blond shifts in his seat, his tongue wetting his rapidly drying lips. He can hear the echoing words of his father in his mind's eye and it causes him to frown.  
  
That isn't how he's going to start this. Not with the negative words of his father.  
  
"How..." Kenny starts, his hands wringing together as he tries to get the question out. "You're gay," he states, no question. "How?"

Kenny has seen Craig in many situations over the years, through hilarious quips and hours editing footage of animals up close with a wide angle lens, to frustration with math problems and irritation while trudging through the jungles of Peru.  But he has never seen this completely dumbfounded expression on Craig's face.

Craig's mouth opens and closes once, twice, the silence dragging on between them as Kenny's question hangs in the air.  "Wait, _what_?"

Kenny decides his approach may have been too complicated. "How. Do. You. Gay?"

The phone next to Craig buzzes across the table and nearly onto the floor, but the boy is still just _staring_ at him, absolute bafflement written all over his face.  " _What_? Like... _what_?"

Kenny can't grasp what about his question the other isn't getting? Isn't he being clear enough? A thin blond brow narrows as Kenny huffs air out in exaggerated exasperation.  
  
"Craig. I don't know how to be clearer with this question, my dude. How did you know you were gay and not like, bi or pan? How do you know you like guys and it's not just, I don't know, more like penis envy than 'golly gee whiz I wonder what it's like to have a dick in my ass'?! Honestly, this _isn't_ a hard question."

Craig's eyes close as he snorts out an awkward, sputtering, yet incredulous, laugh.  "Okay, _that_ is an entirely different set of questions than ' _how do you gay_ '," Craig states as he runs a hand through his hair, pinching at the bridge of his nose for a moment with another laugh as he rights his chullo on his head.  "Jesus, Kenny."

"What? It's the same thing; I don't see a difference," Kenny wrinkles his nose at the other boy before rolling his eyes. He's trying really hard to hide the fact that he's nervous, and when he's nervous, he knows that he tends to babble.

"Maybe you should lay off the _Penthouse Forum_ and read an actual book if that's your reference point for good sentence structure." Sitting up a little straighter and looking Kenny over, Craig offers a small shoulder shrug before he continues, "How did I know?" He holds Kenny's eyes for a moment, dropping them to his hands with another shrug, "I dunno...girls just never interested me.  When everyone was busy looking at _Playboy_ , I just didn't see the appeal.  I thought something was wrong with me for a while, but, uh..." Clearing his throat and letting a faint laugh slip past his lips, Craig meets Kenny's eyes again, "My parents rented _Brokeback Mountain_ and I snuck it to my room and watched it, and just kinda...' _Oh_."

The blond can't help but cover his face with his hand, shaking his head. _Brokeback Mountain_? Jesus, he thought for sure Craig would have some sort of inside knowledge, not Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger rolling around with horses in an Academy acclaimed drama about two star-crossed lovers.  
  
Kenny tries his best to not let his disappointment show; instead, he puts his hand down, resting it on his knee, "Okay. So gay cowboys did it for you?"

"Well, _no,_ " Craig scratches at his knee, his posture shifting into something hesitant. "It just helped lead me to figuring things out? Like I didn't really tell anyone when I started _actually_ thinking about it.  After the whole thing with the town and Tweek and everything, being gay was kind of not something I thought I really was."

"Oh _yeaaaaah_ , I almost forgot about that entire thing with Tweek. You know, the rest of us didn't think you were dating until y’all started acting like it. Kyle even looked up what yaoi was and explained to everyone what the girls were doing; y'all shot yourself in the foot with that one," Kenny laughs softly before glancing over to the washer with his clothes tumbling around, the slosh of water and detergent calming him. "We just kinda thought it was funny after a while. But then you actually turned out to be gay and.. well, yeah. Not so funny anymore."

Craig's smirk has the faintest edge of self-deprecation to it. "Ha ha," he says in his usual deadpan, rolling his shoulders back. "Funny how it works when the whole town thinks you're something you aren't, and then it turns out to be true." Dropping his hand to the phone at his side, Craig spins it absently on the countertop. "Why are you asking all this?"

"Funny you should say that," Kenny responds, dodging his last question, "about being something the town thinks you are." His smile goes a little strange before he's focusing on his hands instead of Craig. "I bet the town would get a kick out of me asking this."

He feels green eyes on him, taking him in silently, dissecting each little twitch of Kenny's fingers and the slow hunch rounding his shoulders.

"But you're not what the town thinks you are," the low rumble of Craig's voice filters into the calm air of the room.

"Heh, you'd think that," Kenny pauses as he rubs at his knuckles and looks back up at Craig. "So you uh, you knew because the town made you think about it? And a movie? That you liked guys? And your folks, were what? Just fine with it?"

If Craig is bothered by the sudden switch back in topic, he doesn't say anything, and for that Kenny is grateful.  "I avoided it _because_ of the town.  And sue me if seeing two hot guys kiss made me think about kissing guys, but," he lets his words linger for a moment, licking unconsciously at his bottom lip, "my dad was super not okay with it at first.  'No son of mine', and all that. But he came around. After a while. And it was before I was even actually _gay,_ so I guess that's a good thing."

Kenny shifts nervously when the mention of hot guys kissing makes his cheeks light up in embarrassment. He often tries not to think about it, suppresses any urges and ignores things like, oh I don't know, Craig licking his lips. Yup, that's a thing to ignore.  
  
It's not a surprise to him that Thomas Tucker had a very similar view to Kenny’s father, but the surprise that he accepted Craig after a while makes his skin feel weird, like it didn't belong to him. He rubs at his arm and hears the same words echoed in his father's voice in his mind. The outrageous, and completely false, rumors of Kenny fucking around with older men makes his stomach clench, bile threatening to rise in his throat.  
  
Kenny's only saving grace with Stuart has been his incredible lack of any gay interaction in the history of his sexual experiences. His father giving the rumors a pass with a jaunty, _"My son ain't no homo."_  
  
The blond swallows down the disappointment he could feel just radiating off of his dad; if only he knew the _things_ Kenny had thought about in the darkness and safety of his room.  
  
"Oh. He...he accepted you, huh?" Kenny asks, his voice shaking a little, a smile trying to pull at his lips but failing. "That's good. That's good. We have a Whole foods, someone has to fill that gay quota."

"After a while, yeah.  Even offered to make me a Grindr account when I turned 18, which _fuck_ no." Craig pulls a face at his words before focusing back on the blond in front of him, those stupid emerald eyes boring into him,  "What about you?"

"Oh, you know, country hick father, I don't think he'd take too kindly to a homo for a son," the blond laughs, his attempt at making the words a joke fall flat when he realizes that isn't what Craig's asking, but he ignores it.

"That's not what I meant."  Craig Tucker is nothing if not blunt to a fault, even if his words are quiet and said with a measure of trepidation.  "What...what about _you_ , Kenny?"

"That's the million dollar question, now isn't it?" Kenny pops up from his chair and starts pacing around the room. "What about me? I'm sure you've heard every rumor that's gone around town, eh, Craig?"  
  
The movements get a little more animated as he swings his arms back and forth before standing in front of the soda machine. He's turned his back on Craig, but he's sure the other boy has an inkling as to the look on his face. Kenny's trying his best to be humorous, but there's absolutely nothing funny about the tone he's using. "So, _what about me_?"

Craig's mouth pulls tight in a thin line.  "I've heard a lot of shit. I've heard a lot of shit that I know isn't true, which is why I'm asking _you_." His voice is even, some kind of fucked up ASMR under the drone of speeding cars on the TV,  "Do you like guys?"

Kenny rounds on Craig, his hands flying up near his own face in a dramatic flourish. "I don't know!" His eyes are wide and he looks frazzled beyond all belief, shocked at the mere idea that they're _actually_ having this conversation.  
  
"I've never had a chance to think about it, between the goddamn rumor mills and my dad's expectations of ‘Kenneth McCormick, Lady Killer’." His fingers brush roughly through his own blond locks as his shoulders hit the machine behind him. "I don't know what I like. Hell, this is the first time I've..." Kenny bites his lip before turning his eyes on Craig, "...said it out-loud."

The washing machines _clang_ and _thunk_ , the sound seeming to well up and nearly fill the room, suffocating him.  And Craig just sits there, still _fucking_ watching him.

"What? _What?_ " Kenny frowns, his blood turning cold in his veins. His skin feels wrong and now his blood feels distorted, everything was going sideways. What did he really expect? Some sympathy? When had the world been so kind?  
  
"God _damnit,_ Craig! I said something really personal; the least you can do is _respond_!" Kenny shouts, pain lacing his voice. Everything about him feels like some goddamn empty puppet on a string, the laundromat becoming more a stage for his humiliation than a sanctuary.

"You didn't really say it," Craig blinks at him, calm in the presence of the hurricane raging inside Kenny.

"Wh...say _what_? What didn't I say?" Kenny snaps back, hands shaking in tight fists at his sides.  
  
"That you like guys.  Or that you might." Craig's foot swings slowly off the edge of the table, "And I think saying it might...help.  So say it."

"Help? What's it gonna help to say it? Huh?" The blond steps away from the soda machine and walks across the room to stand closer to Craig, his eyebrows knitted. "Sayin' I might or might not like something, isn't gonna change the fact that I _can't_."

"You can," the deep tone of Craig's voice clips the end of Kenny's sentence.  "You won't be stuck in this town; your dad isn't going to be controlling your life for forever.  In the end it's _your_ life," Craig says, his words losing their calm and wavering at the edges. "You deserve to be happy. So _say it_."

The words are so close to being spoken that Kenny swears he can almost taste them. The fear that comes with admitting something like this out loud freezes him to the spot in front of Craig, and he finds himself staring into those green eyes.  
  
Would it change him? To say it? He knows Craig is right, but there's doubt in the back of his mind, doubt that tells him he'll never escape this town. Doubt that clouds his judgement and scares him so completely that he's been forced into silence his entire life.  
  
The last three months of their casual back and forth comes flooding back to him. How much Kenny has been enjoying Craig's company, how often he caught himself watching the shorter boy a second or two longer than normal.  
  
He can feel his hands shaking at his side, feel himself wanting to speak, knowing there's a chance that _these words_ could change his entire life.  
  
"I think I'm too scared to," Kenny admits instead, his face contorting to show the emotions flooding his chest.

"It's just me," Craig murmurs, eyes roving over Kenny's face, and as much as he doesn't want to meet Craig's eyes, he can't look away.  "I get it. Trust me. This isn't about everyone at school or the town or your dad. It's for you."

There's something in the moment that controls his movements. Kenny doesn't feel like _Kenny_ anymore. Slowly, over the course of the conversation, he's been losing more and more control of himself, a third party in his own body. He can feel himself moving, a perfect little marionette boy being pulled by the strings of fate or something equally as poetic, perhaps.  
  
Every little word, every little action, has driven him to this moment, and Kenny can't help what comes next.  
  
He's thought about it, kissing another guy. He's pictured it in his mind, touched himself to the idea of it, even fantasized about it in class while he was supposed to be learning chemistry.  
  
But nothing has prepared him for the softness of Craig Tucker's lips, or the feeling it causes in his chest.  
  
It is the briefest of seconds, just a soft press against the other boy's closed mouth. But he feels like this, more than words, has changed something, and the fear is back just as the strings are cut and Kenny has the freedom to move again.  
  
"I..." the blond backs away half a step. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to.. I just, it just happened." Kenny keeps going, feeling his heart pounding in his chest at the silence, "Well, that came out of left field. Talk about being sudden. Oh man, I, wow..."

Craig's hand closing delicately around Kenny's wrist catches him off guard, the faintest tug pulling him closer. The air between them is stifling, charged and heated, and Kenny doesn't have a moment to process anything beyond that before Craig seals their lips together again.

 _Holy mother of Neptune_ , Kenny thinks as his eyes widen before slowly closing. Not only did he kiss Craig, but Craig is now _actively_ kissing him.  
  
The smooth texture of his lips sliding against Kenny's cause a shiver to run down his spine, goosebumps erupting over his skin.  
  
It feels good. _Too good,_ and Kenny finds he wants to do something, anything, with his hands. He isn't sure if he's allowed to, doesn't want to break this moment with some awkward placement of limbs.

Craig is tilting his head, lips parting slightly as he tugs Kenny into his space.  His fingers flutter over the blond's wrist, shifting to brush the front of his shirt, and Kenny wishes for the life of him that he could control the small gasp leaving his lips at the contact.

But oh _fuck_ , Craig's hand settles on his hip, fingers curling against the fabric as he pulls back enough to suck in a shaky breath.  This side of Craig is gentle in a way Kenny never expected, even if it's palpable how much the other boy is holding back. This is new and different and so _fucking_ good, and as Craig coaxes Kenny's lips apart, he allows himself to touch.

His fingers meet the soft skin located right behind Craig's ear, his nails dragging upward against the dark locks hidden under that ridiculous blue hat the boy always chooses to wear.  
  
Kenny's surprised at just how soft Craig's hair feels as he presses the hat off and down to wherever the garment finds itself in this shuffle.

A quiet hum escapes into the air between them, Craig pressing into the touch as he whispers, "That was my hat," against Kenny's lips.

Kenny can't help but laugh, the tension of the situation lightening at Craig's words. The fear, even the idea that this could be wrong, melts away at how easy it just _is_.  
  
It won't change that his father won't accept it. It won't change the rumors that blemish his life. And it certainly won't change how afraid he is to explore these new feelings. But it bubbles something to the surface that he's never had before.

 _Hope_.  
  
A smile graces Kenny's lips as he takes a step closer into Craig's space, his forehead bumping against the other boy’s, "I think you look better without it, Tucker. It wasn't doin' you any favors."

"Everyone's a critic." Craig's smile is evident in his voice, warming something deep in Kenny's core.  He pulls away enough to look at the blond, eyes darting around his face before meeting bright blue once more, "So..."

"So," Kenny mirrors as he stares back, wondering exactly what this all means. "So, uh, that was very nice. Thank you for helping me come to terms with my big gay coming of age story; it was nice of you to be the supporting actor. I'm sorry, I won't be able to pay you. But that's Hollywood, baby; get used to it."  
  
The blond hides behind his jokes, but inside a war starts to wage with that newly developed hope. If Craig wanted to, he could crush the fragile, new feeling into dust.

"And to think I moved all the way out to Californee for this," Placing a quick kiss on Kenny's lips, Craig leans back again, fingers still massaging pleasantly over Kenny's hips, sending a new wave of goosebumps over his skin that he's not sure is entirely from the touch.  "Then again, I was never cut out to be an actor."  
  
Craig's eyes are bright and searching, but _happy_.  Almost...proud.  "You said it."

"Oh God," Kenny grumbles before pressing his face against Craig's shoulder to hide just how red his cheeks are. It's a mix of the very words that left his lips and the undeniably enjoyable feeling that Craig's fingers against his skin is producing.  
  
"Fine. Okay. I might be a little..." He pauses, his voice muffled against Craig's shoulder, " _gay_."

"What was that?" Craig turns his head, voice teasing as his breath stirs the wispy blond hairs just behind Kenny's ear. "You were a little muffled there. Could not understand a word of that."

The joke doesn't escape Kenny as he pulls away and gives Craig his best incredulous look. "Excuse you, I wore a parka for like, twelve years and all you fuckers could understand me then. I say one muffled thing against your bony ass shoulder, and suddenly I'm Stewie from Family Guy and no one can understand the baby."

Craig's teeth flash in a grin, finally straight after years of braces.  _Probably the only thing in this room that_ is _straight_ , his mind quips.

"Say it," Craig's hands on Kenny's hips are firm and sure like they're trying to imbue him with a confidence that he didn't think was possible.  Not in this situation.

Kenny tilts his head back to glare openly at the ceiling; he takes a deep breath, those fingers on his skin grounding him, before he speaks. "I, Kenneth McCormick, on the Lord’s day, Sunday, admit openly and unequivocally, that I enjoyed Craig Tucker's lips smashed against mine. That I have, on days not governed by the Lord, and on occasion, have had supposed gay thoughts both about Craig Tucker, and Thor Odinson because let's be real, he's Thor."

When Kenny lowers his head, Craig's mouth is slack, a deep blush staining his cheeks.  "You think about me?"

Kenny sputters, unable to contain the ever growing redness over his cheeks. "A-and Thor; you forgot Thor."

"And Thor," Craig echoes back, expression going bashful at Kenny's admission.  "But, I mean, since he's not here, maybe I can help you, um, _explore_ this new found Thunder God level gayness.  If you wanted."

"Oh," Kenny starts, his eyes blinking a few times. "Would you...would you be okay with keeping it on the down-low? I feel awful asking that; you're all out, proud and streamers with rainbows on them." The taller boy presses a little closer, feeling that the warmth Craig radiates seems to offer comfort.

"Kenny, an entire town decided my relationship before I was even old enough to have an opinion about them," Craig says matter-of-factly, a droll edge to his voice.  "If seeing where this goes means sneaking around until you can get out of your parent's house in a couple months, I'm fine with it. It's about time the town stops getting involved in my love life."

That bubble of hope rears up inside of Kenny's chest again, squeezing out anything that isn't warm feelings until he's left so happy he feels like he could scream. But Kenny plays it cool, leaning down to press a shy yet firm kiss against Craig's lips, an experiment for himself as well as this blooming relationship.  
  
"I can get on board with that," Kenny whispers, sneaking another kiss between words, "It's kinda hot, the idea of sneaking around."

A laugh bursts from Craig's lips, raising an eyebrow at the boy in front of him.  "Well, that's one rumor that's true. The bad boy trope suits you."

"Oh shut up! You're one to talk, Craig. I heard a rumor that you started smoking; I almost lost my Dr. Pepper laughing at the idea of _you_ smoking," Kenny smiles. It is so weird how a couple of months ago they were just friends, and now, now who _knows_ where they are heading.

"Maybe we can start a couple rumors of our own to fuck with them," Craig says, voice low and teasing, and just barely hiding something that sounds like a promise.

"Sounds like a plan." Kenny pulls away, stepping out of Craig's space and back into reality. It's going to be short lived, he can tell by the way Craig moves, the way he looks like he's ready to follow Kenny. The taller boy heads to his machine and packs up the leftover clothing.  
  
As he slings the bag onto his back, Kenny turns to face Craig with a confident smirk. "I'm sure we have plenty of time to figure out where we're going from here. I mean, your mom's still waiting on that washer and dryer set that's on backorder, huh?" He looks around the laundromat before feeling his heart pound a little harder against his chest, unable to believe this was really happening. Even if it’s just in this little sanctuary, Craig is _here_ , and Kenny is finally ready to try.    
  
"You and me, Tucker, we're gonna figure this out. Together."


End file.
